


Depressed

by Nyx Galanodel (Alyseris)



Series: Bruce & Tim Drabble/Oneshot Collection [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Drabble, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Mentioned Alfred Pennyworth, References to Depression, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26619442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alyseris/pseuds/Nyx%20Galanodel
Summary: It’s the buzzing of his phone, at three in the afternoon on a Saturday, that has Bruce looking up from his book.It’s a message from Tim.Tim reaches out, and Bruce goes to support him the best he can.
Series: Bruce & Tim Drabble/Oneshot Collection [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1926628
Comments: 4
Kudos: 82





	Depressed

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: contains a reference to self-harm.   
> This work contains no description of self-harm, and only references it in passing. Please be careful or don't read this fic if this is triggering to you.

It’s the buzzing of his phone, at three in the afternoon on a Saturday, that has Bruce looking up from his book. Why anyone would text him is honestly a little mysterious. Dick would call; Jason would show up unannounced; Damian is in the Manor with him. Bruce lays a bookmark between the pages and reaches for his phone to look.

It’s a message from Tim. [Sorry. Having a bad day]

He types back immediately. [0-10?]

This system is a somewhat recent development. They all know Tim struggles the most regularly with his mental health, and seeing as he lives on his own now, he doesn’t always have someone to look out for him. Tim used to be more comfortable approaching Dick with these kinds of things, but… well, that relationship has suffered a little, in the past year. So he had agreed with Bruce on a message, any indication if he wasn’t feeling well, something easier than calling and safer than waiting it out. The scale is just another way for Tim to share his experience.

It’s five minutes of silence after that. Bruce can see Tim in his mind’s eye, considering numbers and typing, deleting, and re-typing an answer. Eventually though, a new message pops in, simple and clear. 

[7]

Bruce puts the book away and gets to his feet, then starts collecting his things. A seven -fairly high. He has learned that Tim sending a message in the first place is indicative of enough distress. A four or below generally means something happened to trigger a depressive mood; five or six so far has meant an enduring negative state, over hours or days. The only other sevens he has received had him find Tim sitting on the kitchen floor and curled up on his bed. With the way Tim used to -still does, to be fair- understate his state of mind, Bruce doesn’t expect to see anything higher than an eight. That just makes a seven more severe by comparison.

‘Alfred,’ he calls out when he approaches the kitchen. He opens the door to peek his head inside. Alfred turns to face him, an eyebrow raised in a silent question.

‘I’m going to go see Tim.’ 

That’s all the explanation Alfred needs. He nods gravely. ‘Take good care of him, sir.’

And Bruce is out. He stops just before revving up his car, to send Tim a heads-up.

[On my way, champ. I’ll be there in twenty.]

It takes him just a little less, maybe eighteen, before he’s at Tim’s door. He rummages around his pocket to find the keys, unlocks the door, and goes inside.

‘Tim?’

The spacious living room is empty, the curtains mostly drawn to let in the bare minimum of light. He lets the door click softly closed behind him.

‘Tim, where are you?’

He quickly checks the bedroom and the bathroom; both are empty. Concern is creeping up his back when he sees that the door to the balcony is slightly open. He hurries closer and allows himself a deep breath when he sees Tim on a chair, pushed away from the railing, knees drawn up to his face. Tim barely acknowledges his presence, only wagers a glance at him. Bruce tries to smile.

‘Hey. How’re you feeling?’

Tim’s shoulders shudder in an imitation of a shrug. ‘…Like shit,’ he mumbles. Bruce steps closer and, making sure his gesture won’t be misunderstood, rests a hand on Tim’s shoulder.

‘Do you want to come inside and talk about it?’

‘Yeah.’ It’s a whisper, tired and a little broken. Bruce keeps his hand on Tim’s back as he guides him inside, then lets him settle on the couch, leaning heavily against the armrest. Bruce himself sits on the nearest chair.

‘What’s going on, bud?’

Tim exhales slowly. ‘Just -It’s intrusive thoughts, today,’ he says, motioning tiredly at his head. ‘I can’t get them out, and I don’t want to -to do anything, but… they won’t leave me alone.’

Bruce’s heart pounds in his chest. ‘Tim,’ he starts quietly, trying not to intrude or corner him -but he has to know. ‘Did you hurt yourself?’

Tim grimaces at that. ‘No, I… No.’

That’s a weight lifted from his shoulders. Bruce rests his hand on Tim’s arm, just to reassure him. Ground him, maybe. 

‘Good. I’m proud of you. And, if you ever do -that’s okay, you know you can tell me.’

Because he knows how Tim struggles with those thoughts. Tim glances at him, then curls up tighter.

‘Yeah. Thanks.’

‘Have you eaten?’

‘No, I can’t. I’ve been nauseous. All day.’

‘That’s okay.’ Bruce squeezes. ‘Want me to stay here?’

The answer is soft and hesitant, maybe even a little embarrassed. ‘Yes.’

Bruce smiles again, small. ‘Okay. I’ll let Alfred know I’m staying the evening.’

Tim nods. A minute of silence passes as Bruce sends a message, broken when Tim mutters, ‘Bruce?’

Bruce looks up, into tired, watery eyes, and knows what Tim means. He sits down on the couch beside him. Tim moves to rest against his side after a few minutes. For a long time, they stay there, silent. It’s Tim who talks again, still sounding choked with exhaustion and distress but at the very least a little more comfortable.

‘Thanks, Bruce.’

Bruce lightly ruffles Tim’s hair. ‘Anytime, champ.’

**Author's Note:**

> The title once again is the working title denoting the theme of this fic, and I figured it'd do just okay as a title for a posted work.  
> Bruce is really trying, okay. His responses are based on what I'd think are well-intentioned and not too-terrible attempts at support (though he's obviously not always confident in how to approach situations like this). I hope that came across all right.  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! Stay safe and take good care of yourself :)


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